


Slow Down, You Crazy Child

by Callingtheangels



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Falling In Love, Fluff, Geralt understands it first, Jaskier learns what love really means, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callingtheangels/pseuds/Callingtheangels
Summary: A prompt idea I gave to @anxiousbard on Tumblr (@alltheroads on AO3), that then turned into me having to write the idea she put out:anxiousbard:I think... it’d be a 5+1 kind of ficThe five times Jaskier rushes into love, and the one time he doesn’t. It’d center around Jaskier’s penchant for falling in love, all the while his slow burning relationship with Geralt is played out in the background. Putting in the groundwork, the inside jokes, the tenderness, and something long lasting that Jask is missing from everything else.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 114





	Slow Down, You Crazy Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theamazingbard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/gifts).



1.

At the age of 18, Jaskier saw her, and he knew he had fallen in love for life. The Countess de Stael, long brown locks gracing her shoulders, with dew drop earrings and a shimmery necklace highlighting her elegant neck. Dressed in the greatest finery, not a thread out of place just as she herself fit into court life like a well-fitting piece in a clock. When her gentle eyes locked onto Jaskier’s, he knew he would write sonnets to her beauty. He would sing of her as an enchantress for surely she was no ordinary human with the way that she held the attention of the entire hall and Jaskier’s fragile heart.

When he approached, he made a bumbling fool of himself, stumbling over his words as he tried to woo her with poetic lyrics about her red lips and soft cheeks. Some bard he is. Yet, she was charmed. She allowed him to follow her about for a season, listening to him compose ode upon ode to her beauty and courtly skill. How she talked around the noblemen asking for her hand and constantly returned to Jaskier’s side. The heart in his chest beat only for her, he would do whatever she asked of him. 

Which is why he agreed when she told him to travel to Posada and find her a rare flower, found only at the edge of the world. He traveled quickly, yet he needed to play in common taverns and inns to make his way. Something his dear parents would die to hear of. And it was in Posada that he saw him… a witcher. A white-haired, golden-eyed witcher who would surely know how to find the flower that his perfect Countess desired!

Yet when he spoke to the witcher, he found himself for once distracted from thoughts of his Countess. He was an interesting character, this Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken. He wasn’t impressed by Jaskier’s position as a bard, rather rude about it actually. Which is something he had never experienced and instead of feeling upset and put out by the witcher’s dismissal of his songs, he was intrigued. He wanted to know more about the life that Geralt led, that prompted him to accept a job for defeating a devil stealing grain from simple farmers. It’s why he decided he would follow him to the edge of the world. He hadn’t anticipated the elves. 

While Jaskier might have been concerned for their safety, the witcher was quickly able to deal with the elven king, convincing him not only to let them go, but to compensate Jaskier for his broken lute with an elven lute gifted to him by the king himself. What a story that will make! Geralt might have been displeased with his composing on the way back to town, but Jaskier didn’t take it to heart. If Geralt didn’t enjoy his singing and playing, he wouldn’t have bargained with the elven king for Jaskier to have the lute. 

Geralt was funny like that. He didn’t outright say what he felt or what he thought, but if you learned how to read his actions, he spoke a great deal. Jaskier learned that over the time that he traveled with the witcher.

He forgot to even ask for Geralt’s help in finding the flower for the Countess. In fact, he forgot about her for quite a few years. 

2.

It was outside of Novigrad where Jaskier found the love of his life. She was a hardy but lithe elven woman with flaxen hair, almost as white as his best friend Geralt. Her muscles were toned and she had a mischievous glint in her dark gaze when she watched Jaskier perform in the tavern. After his set, he found her at the bar and offered to buy her a drink. She declined, and said she needed to get home. While he nodded, disappointed, she grabbed his hand and hauled him from the smokey room.

He spent a lovely week with her at her home outside the city, letting Geralt go off and do his witchering, something about a sorceress friend in need. Nothing he couldn’t handle on his own while Jaskier got to know the most perfect woman he had ever met. Giselle, her name was, and a light sense of humor that paired well with her light and airy laugh. She let him compose poetry about her, but always put him to work with her tending her crops in the field. She was mildly impressed by his strength, that he had gained following Geralt on the path the last two years. Although her hands were more deft at creating a fire and skinning rabbits, something Jaskier had never quite gotten the hand of. Geralt insisted he did it wrong and always chose to do it himself. It wasn’t something Jaskier had pushed, because Geralt demanded he play and sing for him while he cooked their dinner. It was another way that he showed he cared, Jaskier was sure of it.

It wasn’t until Jaskier found Roach wandering on the road that he became concerned about whatever witchery business Geralt had gotten up to in Novigrad. He wouldn’t have parted with his horse willingly, not the Geralt he knew. He made his excuses to Giselle, insisting he would be back soon to spend the rest of his life with her. He just needed to check up on his best friend, you see. She waved him off with a small smile and a shake of her head that he didn’t have time to question her on. He had a witcher to save.

Hours later, as he clung to Geralt’s back with one arm and his other held his swords to his side, Roach thundering through the city streets.... he wondered at that small head shake from Giselle. Did she know that Geralt had gotten himself thrown into jail with the promise of a public burning in the morning? Did she think he wouldn’t be able to save him? Ridiculous, he is Jaskier the Bard and he will always come to Geralt’s rescue.

“This is just like that time in Aedirn, last fall!” Jaskier shouted over the pounding of Roach’s hooves on cobblestones as they flew across the bridge out of the city. 

“That time was because you fucked the mayor’s wife!” Geralt shouted back, an uncommon gasp in his breath. The exhilaration of their escape must be affecting him too. Jaskier grasped him closer, pressing his face between Geralt’s shoulder blades. The armor was uncomfortable on his forehead, but he giggled as he recalled their last perilous flight from a large town.

“What a perfect woman she was,” Jaskier said, certain Geralt could hear him. All he got was a soft grunt in response, one he felt more than heard as it vibrated through the arm wrapped tight around Geralt and into his head pressed against his back.

They galloped past Giselle’s home, where she stood outside leaning against her cottage wall. She watched them pass with another mysterious small smile on her face, before turning back to her supper.

3.

With the amount of time Jaskier spent flirting his way through homes across Oxenfurt and later across the Continent, you would think he had settled on a type of person he was attracted to. And while that was true in some cases, a lot of the time the personality of the person grabbed his attention the most. The stories that people held, the magnitudes of their experiences and their dreams. As a bard, those were his bread and butter. It was no surprise that he would be drawn to a strong Skellige blonde named Yoana, a master armorer and a female at that. Geralt had brought him to her, claiming that he trusted no one else to repair and craft his armor after he had helped her become the owner of the forge in Velen. Coming from Geralt, that was high praise and he had been excited to meet the woman. He hadn’t anticipated the stuttering of his heart and the nervous squirming in his stomach that told him he had fallen in love.

She stood just a hair’s length shorter than Jaskier, a trait he normally would avoid because you can’t have anyone too close to your own height. But her life of work had given her calluses to rival the sword calluses on Geralt’s hands, and her flight from Skellige had given her a few scars that even a witcher wouldn’t mock. Jaskier sat near her fire as she worked on Geralt’s new armor, asking her questions about her past and writing down her story in prose. It had the makings of a wonderful epic. She responded easily to his questions, even gracing him with a smile as he pressured for more information on how she knew Geralt.

Geralt had taken a contract for a pack of necrophages in the battlegrounds surrounding Crow’s Perch, something that would take him just a few hours. That was plenty of time for Jaskier to compose an ode to Yoana and her strength, the beauty of her topaz eyes as they glinted in the light from the forge fire. Yet, when he glanced down at his notes, he found that he had written down the entire story Yoana had told of Geralt retrieving ancient tools from Undvik for her, fighting an ice giant along the way. It was one he hadn’t heard before, which explains why he had written it down. Although his unconscious comparison between Geralt’s pale hair and the glint of snow was something he didn’t have time to look too closely at, for at that moment, Geralt returned.

He was covered in mud and guts and blood and all manner of nastiness. With a sigh, Jaskier stood and bid Yoana farewell, promising to return in the morning to marry her. She laughed uproariously before fixing Jaskier with a hard stare.

“Go take care of your witcher,” were her parting words. Which, Jaskier was going to do that, thank you. It was their routine. Geralt hunted the nasty beasties and Jaskier took care of him after. It was hard to get all the viscera out of Geralt’s white hair and Jaskier was instrumental in ensuring that the witcher actually bathed all the grime off him. He huffed as he walked off after the witcher, already planning out which soaps he would grab from his bag for their routine after-hunt bath. Take care of him, indeed.

4.

To be fair, this was as much a surprise to Jaskier as anyone else. He hadn’t been picky in Oxenfurt, or across the Continent since, but he usually fell in love with a certain type. Usually that type was female. So his unexplainable infatuation with the stableboy at the noble’s court he found himself wintering in was, well, unexpected. But certainly welcome! Winters could be so dreary without someone to share it with.

Leo was a gentle soul, caring for the horses in the stable far more than the lords and servants in the castle. His soft brown curls and dark eyes caused Jaskier to sigh in lovestruck contentment many a night at his window. But it was the way he moved, always careful with the horses he kept, murmuring kind words and brushing them down til they gleamed. It reminded Jaskier of Geralt, who would never stand to have his perfectly crafted uncaring reputation ruined by the image of him being gentle. Nevermind that he was gentle with Roach and he was gentle with Jaskier and he was gentle with every scared innocent he saved. Even when Jaskier had gotten injured early on in the spring last year, he had carried him to the closest healer and spent a week at his side, ensuring he was taken care of and waiting for him to heal to come with him on the path. There were many gentle touches and soft smiles during that week, similar to the gentle touches and soft smiles that Leo gave him that winter. 

Perhaps that is what attracted him to Leo, that he reminded him of the best parts of his best friend Geralt? Jaskier did miss him a lot during the winters they spent apart, so he sought to fill an alarming new hole he found in his heart with Leo. It would be easy, afterall, Jaskier already felt the fluttering heart and squirming stomach that meant he had fallen in love.

Leo would give him shy smiles when Jaskier came down to the stables to spend time with him, hanging his hands through the stable gate and offering up simple poetry for Leo to enjoy. His heart leapt into his throat the first time Leo grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. They shared an easy smile.

He spent the winter softly kissing Leo, brushing his fingers through his hair and ignoring the small part of him that thought it should be lighter. The smell of horses and hay was a familiar one to begin with, so he slept easy at night as he curled around Leo. As the deep part of winter settled into the castle and the cold kept people indoors, Jaskier thought he could get used to this simple way that Leo lived. He could stay at this castle and perform for the lords and when he was done, he would find his kind Leo and he would sing just for him. He ignored the twinge in his heart when he thought of his best friend, who used to be the only one getting solo concerts on the daily. 

Jaskier was so sure he would stay with Leo, that it really was true love for him. But as the weather warmed and the snow melted, he found himself wondering what Geralt was up to. Whether he had come down from Kaer Morhen yet, if he had found his first few contracts for the year, if he was looking for Jaskier. It was the thought of him getting hurt on one of his hunts without Jaskier there to help bandage him up that eventually pushed him to pack his bags. He found Leo in the stables and promised to come back to him the next winter. Leo fixed him with a sad look.

“Go find him. You are supposed to be with him,” he said, accepting Jaskier’s final kiss all the same. He was right, of course. It was springtime and soon it would be summer, and this is when Jaskier was the traveling bard, seen with the White Wolf. He had a job to do and a witcher to find!

5.

Love is a burning passion, Jaskier has always been certain of this. He falls quickly in love and that person is his whole world until suddenly… they aren’t. Perhaps it is him who is broken, who can’t love properly. But the feelings in his chest couldn’t lie to him and the man sitting across the tavern in the spot Geralt would normally occupy has stolen the breath from his lungs. 

He is huge, a powerful and muscled man with a gleaming sword slung across his back. His long blond hair hangs neatly down, with intricate small braids woven into its length. Those are the types of braids Jaskier has tried to convince Geralt to let him put in his hair. He thought they would look dashing on the man, and every time he said that Geralt would flush and avert his eyes, humming in that distracting way of his. But the man across the tavern, icy blue eyes boring into Jaskier’s soul… this is it, he is sure of it.

Finishing his set early, Jaskier grabs a tankard of ale as he saunters over to the man. A quip about sitting in the corner and brooding has Jaskier’s heart twisting in his chest, but he attributes it to the love for the laugh of the broad-shouldered man in front of him. He takes his invitation to sit down and chat. All is going well and Jaskier is certain that he will join Bjorn on his ship in the morning, heading for Skellige and a life with him. Certainly heading upstairs with the man for the night! But then the door to the tavern slams open and the crowd quiets in a way that he knows only one man is capable of. A glance away from Bjorn’s lips to the door has him gasping “Geralt!” and lurching to his feet. It is enough to get the man himself to look at Jaskier from across the tavern. 

The blood dripping from the witcher could be the monster’s, the leshen that he had left to hunt. But with the way Geralt was paler than he had ever been and the worrying way he was leaning against the doorframe, Jaskier wasn’t convinced at all.

“Jas…” the shortened nickname had never sounded more wrong, coming from Geralt’s lips as he started to collapse on the floor. Jaskier isn’t sure if he suddenly developed the ability to teleport, but he caught his best friend before his knees could hit the floor. He was heavy, but it wasn’t the first time Jaskier had to carry him from a hunt. It was the first time that Jaskier felt true fear spike in his heart. It felt startlingly like falling in love.

“Healer,” he gasped at the innkeep. “I need the healer!”

A few short directions later and he was hauling Geralt towards the hut at the edge of town. Soft groans of pain came from the man, his head lolling against Jaskier’s shoulder but he resolutely attempted to help walk himself through the town. It felt like ages before Jaskier was pounding on the healer’s door, the wooden barrier swinging open to reveal an elderly woman. Her eyes widened as she took in the bleeding witcher and the panicking bard holding him up.

“Please…. Please help…” Jaskier couldn’t breathe. She opened the door wider and gestured to lay Geralt on the bed at the edge of the room. Ingredients were gathered from the jars on the wall, a poultice mashed together, armor and weapons removed from the suddenly still body of his best friend. Jaskier sat in the chair across the room and watched the slow rise and fall of Geralt’s chest, barely noticing the healer moving about or the passage of the night into dawn.

In the bay, a ship left bound for Skellige. Jaskier’s red-rimmed eyes remained fixed on the injured man on the bed in the hut on the edge of town.

+1.

The fire crackled softly in the clearing, the remains of their dinner drying over the flames to be packaged away as trail rations in the morning. Roach grazed a few feet away and Geralt rested on his back on his bed roll, his right arm under his head and his left hand resting on his stomach. He looked relaxed, the way Jaskier had hoped to get him with the gentle playing he had started up after they ate.

It had been a hard few weeks after Geralt’s brush with death in that coastal town. Almost a whole week of resting was months to a witcher; he could have died. Would have died really, had Jaskier not been able to find help. He spent most of his hours helping that elderly healer out around her hut, just to help pay back some of what he owed her for saving Geralt. And now, they had traveled on and Geralt had found an easy contract for a group of drowners in the nearby river, dispatching them quickly. They had left town after getting payment to camp in the woods, wanting to avoid taverns and people. It was something Jaskier preferred now, had started preferring a while back, years back, truly. Geralt was much more calm in the woods, with Roach… and with Jaskier.

As Jaskier looked at the witcher lying peacefully a few feet from him, he strummed soft chords on his lute. He found his mind wandering, thinking of the path that had brought him to this moment, to this place. Being at Geralt’s side. Later, he would say it was a moment of pure clarity, a series of fireworks going off in his mind. But really, it was a quiet realization that there was no other place he wanted to be. That this, following Geralt wherever he led, even if it was the edges of the world… this was love.

His fingers stopped their strumming and all he could hear was the steady thump of his heart. No fluttering beats or squirming in his stomach, just a settled feeling of belonging. Belonging with Geralt in every situation. Love,

“Oh… I love you.” Jaskier whispered with awe, lovingly tracing the shape of Geralt’s face with his gaze. He blinked quickly when he saw those golden eyes open and fixate on him from a few steps away. He didn’t even have time to panic before the largest grin he had ever seen took over Geralt’s face. He looked like happiness personified.

“I love you, too.” And Jaskier felt his answering smile stretch his lips.

“Nice of you to catch up.” With that, Jaskier launched himself at Geralt, batting at his shoulder and laughing, whispering, “You brute” against his lips as he finally - finally - found his home.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I playing fast and loose with the timeline? Absolutely. It's a fluffy 5+1 fic, we don't need to follow the rules!
> 
> Unbeta'ed and written at a time I should have been sleeping; all mistakes are my own.


End file.
